Awakening
by erhea
Summary: What if Dean was not a vessel for the First Born, but the Archangel itself?


**Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own them.**

**1. Raised from Perdition**

Despair. Darkness. Drowning.

The Rack held no mercy for the forsaken, no mercy for the forgotten. This soul could have testified to that had he been aware to anything else than the scorching pain raking his body, as his hands were stabbed over and over again with iron heated poles.

The smell of burnt flesh, the screams of agony, the coperry taste of fresh blood. These were the greetings one received while entering the Gates of Hell.

At first one could hope, could dream of Redemption, while listening to the screams and pleas of so many souls.

But then, then they aome. Dark, bony black fingers, attached to countless hands, grabbing you, scratching you, with putrid long nails that smelled of rotten human flesh.

There was no escape as they put you on The Rack, a poor yet mocking imitation of the Lamb's Cross.

There was no escape as they nailed you to the pole, while you screamed your lungs out to a mostly absent God.

And then He came, Alastair, the Master Torturer of the Pitch, the one with empty white eyes.

Oh yes, He knew his job well. At first he laughed and insanity uncoiled from his cold, icy howls.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Welcome to your new home, Dean Winchester."

The sorrowfull soul, looked at the unfeeling monster of Hell and tried to speak but no sound escaped those bloodied chapped lips.

The demon laughed again, eyes widening in satisfaction.

"It is after all fitting that the one who banished my brothers and sisters would banish himself rigt in Hell... And what more proper reward than to break and then unleash you to the world?"

The soul's eyes widened in horror, lips moving, struggling to form words. Thinking of Sam, the brother he left behind and would shurely bring him back.

Alastair's grin widened once again.

"No dear boy, your brother has left you. He much rather enjoy the pleasures of the flesh than save his beloved big brother"

"As you see" he continued, while removing a knife from a table that had not been there before, "we are ... shall I say all alone here? And nothing, nothing shall remove me te pleasure of slicing you open again, and again.. Even if I have to pull you back together to enjoy it once more"

As he spoke, he started cutting into the flesh, peeling the skin of the soul's collar bone. On and on he went, cutting, slicing, mincing through the screams of the tortured soul until nothing was left than a mould of bones.

Then, with a snap of his fingers, the soul was back, eyes widened with comprehension, lips opened to scream in terror.

And so it went on, for forty long and dark years.

Until one day when Alastair propposed a deal. A soul for a soul, a cut for a cut, a drop of blood for a drop of blood, as God once demanded of his sacred people.

The soul could be free of The Rack, could avoid the torture, only if another sould would take his place. And then, while that unfortunate poor soul was bound to the pole, he would remove the bits with a special knife forged in the Pits of Hell.

The soul, battered and hopeless, forgotten and forsaken by all above, was one step from accepting the deal made by the white eyed demon.

But then he tought of the torture, the screams, the pain he endured and he finally found within himself the strenght to speak:

"Stick you deal up to your but, you ugly fuck. As long as I breath, as long as I exist, I will commend my soul to God and fight you to extinction."

So caught were the two of them in their fight without a fight, that, they did not notice the light that approached them, fast and steady as a lightening, bright as a scorching sun.

So caught was Alastair in his hate that he did not took notice that Dean Winchester's body started to glow, as he spoke those word, laying his soul bare at the feet of the Almighty and Just God.

Then, as the light grew brighter, the demon felt something akin to fear course through his empty veins. A moment later he felt another, panic, and with a loud crack he disapeared.

The shining soul shone brighter as well, and as the light approached, steady and fast, as always before, the chains fell, as did the nails that kept him to the pole. He raised one hand as another raised to meet him. Shoulder grabbing shoulder, burning, marking. And then blue eyes met green, flashing in recognition.

The light shone brighter and brighter, Grace meeting Grace, embracing, rejoicing, protecting, singing praise to the Father, until it suddenly exploded, leving behind only darkness and a shattered reck.

**AN:**

**I apologize before hand for the spelling mistakes, I've been told that spell checkers seem to fail me. Also, I am sincerely sorry for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, so I am bound to make them happen often enough.**

**So, if constructive criticism is highly apreciated, then read and review ;)**

**yours faithfully,**

**erhea**


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